Stick to the plan
by LolaRedMuse
Summary: Now they are playing by a whole new set of rules.


_A/N: Here I am again. Sooner than I had anticipated, actually. So I bring more __Callian-ness mixed with some other stuff as well, for your entertainment :D Lol! No beta. Barely proof-read. Sorry. _Also, it's quite strong T rated, I guess... _ So, let's! _

Disclaimer: Yes, I own LTM and all its characters, etc. That's why I write for fanfinet completely free of charge and not for the actual show. Just so we're clear. Now, let's do this guys! I'm done delaying this fic with nonsense.

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_Stick to the plan_

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going out there. She needs my help."

"No, you're not."

She rolls her eyes in that way that he loves and hates. Keeps walking towards the door as he speeds up his pace to get ahead of her and block her way.

"Cal, C'mon. Get out of my way. I'm doing this."

"That guy can be armed."

"Exactly."

"Torres will be fine. She's a tough cookie."

"And I'm not?"

Loker gets up, impatient and upset. He walks out the door with swift strides.

The last words he voices before disappearing and slamming the door on his way out are: "Neither of you is doing this. I am."

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Ian Mc Millan is a shady guy. Nothing about him denotes decency or moral grounds.

He corners Torres when she tries to put some distance between them. She doesn't look scared but she definitely looks disgusted and uncomfortable. Her plan was to stand by the bar and get clean shots of Mc Millan's face for the rest of the team to analyze in the room they were using as an improvised lab, upstairs, on the fifth floor. It was her idea to chase the bad guy around for days to gather evidence that could prove that he was behind her sister's close encounter with death. And hopefully, with that evidence, Mc Millan would be back where he belonged.

When Loker makes his entry to the bar he runs into a very tall and drunk man that decides to use him as a punching bag.

Loker takes the first swing on his face, more precisely, his chin. Then his reflexes kick in and he ducks. So, the second drunken swing the tall guy that has more alcohol than blood running through his veins, takes at him, hits thin air and its force sends that guy straight to a nearby table where he lands in the most messy way imaginable. The occupants of that table complain loudly and in a far from kind way, remove the drunken bulge from the table. They yell at him and curse and everybody in the bar is looking at them and making up their own minds about what just happened.

All the while Torres manages to sneak out, leaving Mc Millan behind and wondering where the hell his next victim of choice went.

Loker sees his favourite co-worker escaping the filthy claws of Mc Millan and sneaks out himself.

They meet in the hallway that leads to the elevators. On the ride back to their room she tells him that she's sure it's him. That she's sure they have the right guy. And that she could have handled it. Loker tells her: "Of course you could have. I just wanted to help." To what she responds: "I know."

The elevator doors open to show them an expectant Gillian Foster standing there in front of them. As soon as they get out of the car she approaches them and asks them if they are okay. They nod and head to the room across the hall.

Gillian carefully takes Loker's chin and lifts it up to inspect it, as well as the rest of his face. Cal's voice travels all the way from the back of the room saying: "He's fine, Foster."

"Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry, he just caught me by surprise but he barely touched me."

"Ok, still… you should put some ice on it."

"I will."

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Two nights later a very sexy Gillian Foster makes her way into the bar. Gillian Foster is sexy in any way, shape or form, but when she's wearing red the whole world comes to a halt to watch her walk by. That's how sexy she was that night.

She sits by the bar and crosses her killer legs getting everybody's attention as she does it. Even female attention.

She smiles at the bar tender and orders a Gin tonic with a twist.

She looks around and scans the room as if she was waiting for someone. She notices in the reflection of the mirror across the bar that Mc Millan has spotted her and is staring at her. He's more than staring. Staring doesn't even begin to cover it. He's undressing her, tying her, hitting her, strangling her and throwing her disfigured and bloody body by a deserted road in the middle of nowhere, with his eyes. That's what he's doing.

Cal is pacing the room like a wild animal. He did try to watch the live footage on the laptop's screen and read Mc Millan's every move. He did. He tried his best. He failed.

Cal heads for the door like a bull heading towards a red flag and Torres gets in front of him. The level of defiance she displays in her eyes and all over her features, makes her look taller, even intimidating. But Cal is not intimidated in the least, he's actually kind of proud of his protégé. Although, now all he cares about is Gillian.

"Stick to the plan." Torres almost yells at him. She looks at him square in the face and pierces him with her dark eyes.

Cal backs down and gives the impression of accepting defeat. But he doesn't. As soon as Torres gets out of his way he approaches the door again and this time Torres races him to the door, opens it and shuts it behind her, locking him in.

Cal's insults can be heard from three doors down and beyond. Whoever is staying on that floor can hear him. He even kicks the door with all he has. Torres knows this will cost her.

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Downstairs, at the bar, Gillian feels his arms circling her waist from behind. She tilts her head as he kisses her neck. She welcomes his lips and smiles mischievously.

He whispers in her ear something that makes her turn around in her seat to face him.

He kisses her, profusely. She puts her arms around him, runs her fingers through his hair and pulls him closer. He smiles even more mischievously than her.

He runs her hands up her thigh and she stops him putting her own on top of his and looking at him, she stops him more with her eyes than she does with her hand.

He tells her: "Let's get outta here, love."

She licks her lips without breaking eye contact and nods slightly as she gets up and heads out of the bar and towards the elevators. But she never gets as far as the elevators. She's pulled in another direction entirely by a strong yet gentle male arm that brings her closer and spins her around. He kisses her again and then pins her to the wall. The space is quiet confined. They are making out like teenagers in the not so broad corridor that leads to the restrooms. The lighting is very invitingly dim and they take full advantage of that.

She finally lets his hand get away with what it was trying to do while she was still by the bar. She grabs him by the collar of his white shirt and pulls him even closer to get better access to his mouth. Her leg is climbing. She rubs her inner thigh against his leg and he caresses her leg as much as he can before letting his eager hand sneak in underneath her dress. His hand is dangerously close to her bottom, but doesn't wander that far up to actually grab it. Now, her hand does wander south on his back, way south. And grabs his firm flesh, hard. She is not shy. He kisses and nibs her neck and she lets him. She moans a little, he does too.

As he feasts on her neck she gets a clean sight of Mc Millan. He's spying on them, he is enjoying this free of charge peep show just around the corner of the hallway. She stops her arousing ministrations all of a sudden and looks at him. Loker senses the abrupt change of atmosphere and turns around, untangling himself from Gillian's arms. He walks towards Mc Millan, all territorial in a very Alpha male sort of way and asks him. Well, he barks at him, actually..."What you looking at, perv? Why don't you take a walk, loser?"

Gillian smooths her dress and walks right pass Mc Millan. She smiles at him seductively and then looks down. Loker follows her as he calls her fake name: "Denise! c'mon! You won't let this loser ruin what we had going on in here! Denise!"

Loker and 'Denise' take the stairs, in case Mc Millan is still watching them, so he won't know what floor they are staying on. When they reach the first floor they do get on the elevator. Coast is clear, so they push the button and wait for the doors to open so they can escape from Mc Millan and from each other, after such a candid and steaming performance.

They know they played their cards well. But they dont feel well at all. Not at all.

They ride in silence.

They avoid eye contact.

They examine the elevator floor in vivid detail.

When the elevator stops, she goes out first and then turns around to ask him what is he waiting for? He replies: "I'm not getting in there, he's gonna kill me."

She looks worried and tends to agree with him, so she doesn't push it. "Ok, then. Suit yourself, I'm going in."

"If you think he's gonna play nice with you after what he just saw, think again."

She is prepared to walk into that room knowing that the hidden camera they had installed in the hallway, in case Mc Millan made a unexpected exit through the restrooms or the back door, had recorded and given Cal a great view of all Loker and 'Denise' had been doing in that hallway. She knows that Cal, most likely downright ignored Mc Millan's part of the footage and just focused on the very hormonal couple that was kissing, touching, grabbing and moaning bluntly against the wall.

She knows what she's in for as soon as Cal gets a hold of her. She can see it coming. Even though, Cal should know that they were just sticking to the plan. And that so far it was working as expected.

Mc Millan had stepped right into the set up, willingly. Attracted by 'Denise's' beauty and femme fatale- like behavior. Just according to plan.

She's not prepared for the silence that welcomes her to the room. She is not prepared for his cold and dismissing gaze. After a long silent moment in which time seemed to have frozen, she hears his voice from across the room. He's sitting like he usually sits, slouching style and all, in a burgundy armchair. Next to him there's a lamp that traces spooky patterns of shadows and lights on his face. He's holding a glass of red wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He had ran out of Scotch fifteen minutes earlier.

"Are you ready for part four, Denise?" He shoots.

"Yes."

"Of course you are."

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Denise knocks on Mc Millan's door in the middle of the night. She carries a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

As he opens the door she invites herself in and he lets her do. He's stunned and more than pleased. Mc Millan's face resembles a hungry wolf's. Denise can see that from only two feet away. She trembles but hides it well. She's terrified, but looks playful and enticing. Exactly what Mc Millan wants to see in her. Dr. Gillian Foster's psychological profile on Mc Millan is fulfilled to the letter. She knows that.

Usually he prefers to win them over or steal them away from their dates. But when a vixen like Denise shows up at his hotel room door wearing a tighter than tight red dress and those higher than high black heels, he cannot let that opportunity pass by. How could he?

Denise hands him the bottle of french bubbles for him to open and tells him that she tried to open it before, but couldn't. "I don't have strong hands like yours…"

She places the glasses on the little coffee table next to her and tells him that her friend is asleep. He asks her if she worn him out. She nods and smiles alluringly for him. He gets closer and closer and she can feel his breath on her mouth. She closes the almost non existent gap between them and kisses him with such intensity that he falters a little. But he quickly manages to regain balance and throws her on the sofa while she lets him get away with his games for about two minutes. Then, she gets on top of him and runs her crimson nails on his hairy chest. He gets on dirty talk mode. She plays along.

The make out session gets hotter and hotter with every move they make. Her every move is calculated and his, are rough. Sometimes, too rough. She's playing a part and she's also playing with fire. She knows that too.

She asks him with her best vamp tone of voice, if they can have some bubbles. In fact, in between gasps she tells him that she's in the mood for bubbles. He goes: "By all means, you can do whatever you want, baby. As long as you get out of that dress right now."

"Whatever I want? Really?" Her mischievous smile and naughty pitch, make him grow even harder. If that's even possible.

Then she reaches for the bottle and starts pouring the bubbling amber liquid on his bare chest, but not all of it. The half part of the content that remains in the bottle is poured by her expert hands in the glasses as she proposes a toast. "To Joshua."

"Joshua?"

"Yes, my friend, who's sleeping peacefully in our bed after his lame attempt to satisfy me, while I'm having a blast here, with you, baby..."

"Oh, _that_ Joshua, right. To Joshua, then. Poor idiot!" Mc Millan laughs like a hyena and she throws her head back as she laughs along as well.

He drinks in the glass, rapidly, as if he is putting down a fire. And she pours more champagne in his glass right away. She also stretches to reach the coffee table and puts her own glass back down. Pretends to drink from the bottle as she lets the champagne spill over her mouth, down her chin and onto her breasts.

"I prefer it this way." She says. Licks her lips and smiles. He licks her.

She tells him that the sooner he finishes up that champagne, the sooner she will show him what else can she do with her mouth. She brutally pushes him back against the sofa and lowers herself onto his chest to spread lots of passionate kisses. Lots of extremely well simulated passionate kisses. In the back of her mind she's more than relieved about 'part four' of the plan not being caught on tape as the previous three were and also about Cal not being able to witness what she's doing to Mc Millan and with Mc Millan on that sofa.

Denise is completely unaware of the bug Cal planted in her left shoe.

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Ian Mc Millan sleeps like a baby.

Gillian is back in the room/lab waiting for the scumbag to wake up.

All four occupants of that room have forgotten the art of talking. They just look at each other.

On their laptops the images of the live footage provided by the four different cameras they installed in various areas of the hotel, play on and on. But they are focusing now only on the camera that shows them what is going on in Mc Millan's room. It displays his sleeping figure resting on the sofa, just like Gillian left him after getting Flunitrazepam in his bloodstream in the form of french champagne.

They are waiting for Mc Millan to get out of his drug induced stupor and notice he's been played by the blue eyed femme fatale in red.

Dr. Foster's profile predicts a breakdown and the consequent escalation of his criminal behaviour that will move him to go out haunting desperately for his next victim. They will follow him and ruin his plans and hopefully save his next victim from and awful death while doing so.

That's the fifth part of the plan they are sticking to. The last one. The scariest.

It works like a charm, though. Mc Millan is caught in the act and brought to justice. There's more than enough evidence to put him behind bars for the rest of his sorry, dirty and pathetic life. Other four murder cases that are linked to this psycho, are solved during the trial. The last girl is safe. The plan was a total success.

Now, there's the aftermath they all have to deal with.

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"Look at me and tell me you didn't feel anything!"

"I didn't feel anything, Cal."

"You are lying and you know it." He is on fire. The worst kind of fire, the raging kind.

The silence she answers with to his lapidary sentence and the guilt that washes all over her face, make him prefer a bullet to the sight of her lying to him like that.

He heads towards the door but her small, weak, almost shy and whispered plea stops him right in his tracks. "Cal..."

He can't even find the strength to turn around and look at her.

"It was you I was thinking of all along, I couldn't have done it otherwise. I just didn't know how to tell you…" She looks down as she struggles with the lump in her throat that threatens her respiration and composure.

He finally turns in his heels. Hazel meets blue, locks and it is held in the most worshiping way fathomable.

The damage that was done has just been repaired. Now they are playing by a whole new set of rules.

The master plan has worked wonderfully.

_The end. Or not._

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_A/N: Honestly...I don't know what to say about this fic. Lol! Do you? As usual, all is welcomed -as long as you guys keep it cool.- Meaning, I can take bad critics, good ones, so so... creepers, etc. Cos, otherwise, I wouldn't even post here. Ok? Cool. Read you around. :)_

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